When Hope Rises
by story2tell
Summary: Things aren't always as they seem, are they? Harry soon comes to realize this as he returns to Hogwarts for his fifth year. But can he trust after everything that has happened? Perhaps his parents have one more part to play before the war ends. AU
1. ProlougeA beginning of sorts

In the darkness, in the pouring rain, two figures emerged from the thick, foreboding forestry, breathless, staggering but, oddly enough, both were triumphant.

One was a man, groping wildly for he had lost his glasses long ago and his world had diminished to a blur of colors and shapes. He fell unexpectedly to his knees but only a moment passed before he was struggling to stand again, despite the driving rain. His companion, an extremely thin woman, gave a desperate attempt to help him up; though she was weak as well. Her hair fell thickly over her shoulders, thick and untamed. In the gray-darkness, her looked like a cascade of blood, spilling around her face in soaked disarray.

Together, they finally gave up all chances of walking, collapsing as one, the woman with her arms around the man as he lay nearly lifeless on his stomach, unheeding to the mud swelling around him. But then he stirred. He raised his head slightly, spitting out mud yet the only emotions playing on his face were relief and pure, blissful joy. He suddenly loved the feel of rain pounding on his kin.

He was _alive_.

"We made it," he whispered, unable to speak any louder. He didn't respond to the sob that broke from the woman's throat. He only smiled. "_We made it_."

***

Not too far from these two people, a man with a waxen face and slitted eyes suddenly let out a roar of fury. A roar that echoed off the stone walls of the chamber and rattled the dirty windows.

A group of robed figures cowered, fumbling to step away from their master's sudden fury, unable to fully escape it. Red eyes glare savagely and the cauldron boiling over the fire pit explodes. Scalding potion sprays the room, chunks of black iron flies, a figure crumbles to the ground, his heart stopping mid beat, a fragment of cauldron embedded into his forehead.

The waxen-faced man hissed, stepping over the bleeding, lifeless body, uncaring, unnoticing. In his right hand he wields a wand, long and thin. Deadly.

"Find them!" he demands. He no longer shouts but his words, his voice drip with acidic evil, so thick, so sinister that a collective tremor ran through the remaining robed figures. "_Find them!"_

**

Many, many miles away, a fifteen-year-old wizard suddenly doubled over in obvious pain. The man beside him, ragged and thin, gave a start of surprise than quickly bent over the boy, who was now vomiting on to the tiled floor. It was the tired man who held him up as he convulsed in the sudden violent sickness. When the vomiting became dry heaves, the boys fly for his head, clutching his forehead. His face is a mask of agony that he desperately tries to cover up. He failed. As he sank to the floor, the man followed, rubbing the boy's back gently as he called demands to the surrounding group who had froze to stare and watch the scene unfold before them.

Outside, the night was still and quiet.


	2. Anger

"What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now."

June 6, 2006

_It seems so nonsensical that life should boil down to this. I need someone to talk to, someone who will listen and understand. Not somebody who pities me but a person who actually cares. I'm so pathetic…so pathetic that I'm actually writing in this diary-thing-like some bloody, prissy girl. But I need to get out all these feelings and thoughts before I explode from the intensity of the pressure. It's not like anyone listens to me. I talk to Hedwig sometimes but she can't really respond—she's just an owl, not that I have anything against that. I can't tell Ron or Hermione because of a letter getting into the wrong hands. Besides, I don't think they'd understand. Ron would want to go and talk to his dad and Hermione would go into a panic-induced hyperventilation. She would tell me to go straight to Dumbledore. _

_Hell to that. He can rot in his office for all I care. He's the one who stuck me in this damn place. 'For my protection' I might add. Isn't that ironic? I don't think Dumbledore realizes that humans weren't meant to be caged up like animals._

***********************

I sat quite still, slumped in the overstuffed arm chair, holding the cold wash cloth to my throbbing forehead. It had been only several minutes since my scar had stopped searing—worse than usual. The pain had been a blur. I vaguely remembered Lupin holding me up in the midst of the chaos. It was only the pain that existed—unbelievable pain bisecting my skull—nearly neck in neck with the agony I had experienced when I was forced to watch Voldemort regain his body.

I shuddered at that thought.

Remus Lupin sat quietly beside me; his hand seemed to twitch towards my arm as though he wanted to offer comfort but was unsure of doing so. Not that I cared. I wasn't in the mood for comfort at all. In fact, all I wanted was to get out of this damn place and somehow figure out what's been going on in the wizarding world. It was disconcerting—well, to know that you've been left in the dark; and a sense of distrust began to creep through my emotions. I did my best to force it to dissolve.

I couldn't even feel the joy of seeing my favorite professor from third year. His face supported a fresh cut right over the cheek bone and his ash brown hair seemed to have acquired a few more silver strands. But his pale, blue-green eyes seemed as sharp as ever, quickly taking in details like no human should be able to.

Though, it hadn't been hard for him—or anyone else for that matter—to see the spider web of black muggle stitches that laced my right eye and ear.

He hadn't asked about the injuries yet…but kept a wary eye on them as though he didn't know what to make of it.

"The Dursley's will be back soon," Moody spoke gruffly, breaking the tense silence. His voice still sent shivers down my spine beside the fact that I knew that this wasn't the same man who tried to kill me last year by putting my name in the Goblet of Fire. "They're only going to give us our signal one more time. Potter, we have to go."

I nodded, grateful, for it had been Professor Lupin who had confined me to this chair, and slowly sat up, drawing the cloth from my face. Lupin took it from me and tossed it onto the night stand where Petunia was sure to find it later. This time, he didn't hesitate. His hand grasped my upper arm as I stood, attempting to steady me. The concern radiating from him almost stank it was so thick.

"I'm fine, Professor Lupin," I tried to brush the man off but was unfortunately unsuccessful.

"I'm no longer your Professor, Harry." He responded softly, his forehead crinkled in anxiety.

I grunted, feeling the room slowly spin around me.

"Harry?" Lupin's voice was strained with concern.

"It'll pass," I muttered. I gingerly touched the scar etched into my forehead, feeling it throb beneath my finger tips. "It always does. He's really angry."

"Voldemort?" Lupin asked.

Moody let out a hiss that made me jump. "Don't say that name!" he demanded, banging his walking stick on the floor. "Do you want to jinx this entire mission?"

Lupin sighed. "A name doesn't make a person evil, Moody. It's what that person does. There's no need to fear a name."

"Touching, really," Moody roughly grabbed my shoulder and pushed me forward, ripping my arm from Lupin's hand. "Be sure to tell _him _that to _his_ face when we're captured and tortured."

"Stop being so dramatic," the young woman with the shocking purple hair popped a bubble of gum with a smack of her lips. "Nothing's going to happen."

Lupin gave a half-smile and nodded towards me to head for the door.

"Are we really riding by broom stick, Professor Lupin?" I asked in a whisper, afraid to raise my voice.

The young man looked at me. He raised a hand—I flinched—and touched the ugly black stitches half-mooning my swollen right eye.

"It was an accident, Professor," I grumbled, pulling from his uncomfortable touch.

"Please, Harry, call me Remus," said the man in question, dropping his hand with a deep frown. "Are you okay to fly?"

I opened my mouth to speak but—

"Or course he is!" it was Moody who bellowed in irritation. Obviously he was about to have a conniption from the delay.

I couldn't help myself from rolling my eyes. Remus looked at me questionably and I nodded mutely, ignoring the throb of my head and the unsteadiness of my feet.

Moody was grumbling behind me, his walking stick echoing with each step he took. He raised his wand towards me—I flinched again—and tapped it on my head. The feeling of an egg cracked on my skull and the yolk running down my back was the strange sensation that I received.

Tonks was staring at my invisible midriff. "Very nice, Moody," she commented lightly.

With my trunk in tow and my Firebolt in my other hand, we stepped out into the cool night air. The street was silent and still; wind was nonexistent. The rest of the guard filed in behind us.

Pretty soon, though, all of it was forgotten when we kicked off. The rush of wind, the sky speeding towards me, the swoop in my stomach—it all sent a whirlwind of adrenaline through my veins and I was suddenly light as air, my troubles left back on earth. The only thing before me was an endless sea of glittering diamonds. I almost felt as though I could reach out and touch one of the stars, a pin-prick in the black velvet. I grinned widely, though no one could see me.

For one beautiful moment, all was right with the world.

***_Oh my goodness…is this James I hear?_

"I—can't—" my voice came out raspier than I had intended. The pain in my right leg was nearly unbearable. I might as well have been drunk for I couldn't walk a straight line if it meant my life. Finally, I just sank to the ground, on hands and knees, pressing my forehead to the sodden earth, hoping to relieve my pounding head. "No—more—"

Lily's voice came breathless and gentle and I felt a soft hand on the back of my neck. "I know," she said. "I know you're hurt and tired, but we have to keep going—we have to find someone who can help us…"

I twisted away from her, my pain quickly morphing into anger. "If anyone is even still alive." My pessimism overflowed my cauldron of emotions and seemed to poison the air with negativity.

Silence. Despite the icy wind and misty rain, I could literally hear her exhaustion and hurt.

"Lily, I'm sorry…I didn't mean it…" I was instantly guilty, though she had said nothing and I couldn't even see her face to see what kind of expression she wore.  
"You're fine," she cut me off abruptly. "Turn over so I can check your leg."

Grunting, I turned onto my back, grimacing, sucking in a quick breath of pain. Blood had soaked through my ripped pant leg. "How bad is it?"

Lily, her hair heavy with rain, laid her cheek on my knee. "It's pretty bad, James." Her voice was weak, wispy, barely there at all. I had to strain to hear her. "There's got to be some way that's faster…"

With my chin titled back, I stared at the clearing sky, at the few brave stars that had dared to shine despite the looming clouds.

"Maybe a portkey?"

I shook my head slowly, "Impossible—we lost our wands several hours ago and we're both weak."

"What about wandless magic?"

I shook my head slowly. "As I said, we're both…weak…" as much as I hated to admit it, I was feeling worse than weak. Every bit of me was drained. I didn't think I could go on much longer.

NO! I scolded myself. After all I had been through…I could not just give up! Not in my right mind, at least. I pressed my palms against the ground and heaved myself up to a sitting position.

"James…?" Lily kept her hands on my shoulders, fearful.

"I'm fine, just help me up. The sooner we get out of here, the better."

"But where are we going?"

I gasped in pain and saw spots the moment I tested my leg on the ground. Lily was quickly beside me, swinging my arm about her shoulder, allowing herself to be the crutch that I needed.

She began murmuring in my ear, soothing and gentle. "Let's just take it slowly—one step at a time…that's it…"

"Grimmuald…" I muttered, swaying despite myself. "Dumbledore had been talking about using it once Sirius' mother died…she must…have…by now…for headquarters…order….phoenix…" Breathe…breathe…breathe…The ground beneath my feet swayed and lurched and the sky above me spun in confusing patterns.

"Hang on, James…" Lily begged me—though her voice was a little distant—as though I was hearing her on the other side of a thick glass window. "I'm going to apparate us as close as possible."

I shook my head drunkenly. "We're…ill…splinched…"

"I have to try. There's no way we're going to walk there because A: we don't even know where we are and B: you won't make it," her voice broke at the last bit.

"Nonsense…"

A sudden violent jerk around my naval sent my eyes flying wide—the world beneath me vanished for a brief second before I was met by a rush of pavement.

_Oh, god… _was my last thought before darkness stole me away.

****_Sirius Black_

_Oh, god…_

I internally groaned as I saw my godson, slightly staggering beneath the weight of his trunk as he followed Remus and the guard into the kitchen.

He looked bloody awful.

Skinny and clad in god-awful clothes that accentuated the fact that he was underweight, he staggered from the tow of his trunk as he dutifully followed Remus and the guard into the cavernous kitchen of the Black Household. When he looked up, I didn't even notice the flicker of happiness that lit his usually solemn face—instead I stared at the black thread-like things lining one side of his right eye and leaving an ugly trail around his right ear.

"Gods, Harry," I gasped. "What the _hell_ is on your face?"

"Muggle stitches," Remus answered for him, rather grimly, his eyes hard.

"Stitches?" I echoed.

"They're put in place by doctors when a wound is too deep to heal itself." The werewolf's voice sounded to calm for such a matter as this. I glared at him before rounding on Harry, who's face once again became stony.

"It was an accident," the boy grumbled to his feet. "I tripped."

"Harry, look at me," I demanded, not buying the lie for a second. James was never a good liar either.

Harry looked up and suddenly I couldn't find the words I wanted to spew out just moments before.

Those brilliant green eyes were piercing, unwavering and they met mine unabashedly. Never in a million years would I ever admit to having been intimidated by a fifteen-year-olds gaze.

The boy stared at me, waiting, almost daring me to speak another word; his eyes were green ice, hard and audacious. It was almost like he was probing with those eyes, trying to see what I hid beneath my façade.

I swallowed hard, blinked twice and looked away, staring at Remus instead.

"Do you want to tell me what really happened?"

No answer. Not that I expected one. But his silence was aggravating and nearly overwhelming. James had never been a quiet one—he was always the voice that spoke up, drove people to near insanity as he told them exactly what was on his mind. But in some ways, Harry was worse.

Though he didn't speak his mind so arrogantly as James too often did, his silence could almost be condoned as condemning and nerve-wracking—his face never did display his emotions easily, so it was next to impossible to tell what the boy was thinking or feeling.

I could probably blame that on his damn relatives.

I didn't get to dwell on the fact for in that moment, Harry's face went completely white, his body jerked once and he clapped his hands to his forehead, dropping to the floor like a stone.

I couldn't get there fast enough, even though I was only inches away.

Harry lay on his stomach, his face turned away from me, his back heaving. He dragged a trembling hand across the planked wood floor, obviously trying to alleviate whatever pain he was in. I place a hand on his unruly hand and demanded,

"What's hurting you, Harry?" there was no way my voice could had been soothing but I didn't care for the fear was so violent within in me now I couldn't do anything less.

But Remus came to my rescue and his voice remained to calm, steady tenor it always was. "It's his scar. He had an attack like this while at Privet Drive to the point that he got sick."

"And you still let him fly?" I thundered, doing my best to hold back the terror that came from thoughts of my godson plummeting from his broom with no hope of anyone catching him.

"Let's not dwell on what never happened," Remus whispered, running a hand soothingly up Harry's back. "All we can do is wait it out."

"Wait it out?"

I didn't like that. Waiting it out. Just the fact that Harry was in such a pain that incapciated him was unacceptable but to let him linger in this state was completely unaccepted. Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought this for Molly's scream suddenly followed my harsh question.

"What did you do?" she cried in a fretful state, her hands dancing about her face.

"It's his scar," Remus explained again, this time his voice was strained. "Earlier he told me that Voldemort was angry—really angry."

"The connection has grown stronger?" Molly asked, still frozen in her spot by the threshold.

"Stronger…or something really big is happening."

Harry continued to gasp and shake, his eyes unseeing as they stared at the opposite wall. I tried to copy Remus' apparently gentle movements but was horrified to find I could feel Harry's spine jutting out through his shirt.

I knew the pain had stopped when Harry suddenly went limp, muscles quivering from exhaustion.

"Merlin," he moaned quietly.

"Turn him over," said Remus. "Molly get him a glass of water and a cold cloth."

As I assisted my friend, I smiled bitterly at him. "You should have been a healer."

"Yeah," he laughed humorlessly, bitterly, "Should've been is the key word."

Harry watched me through hooded eyes, his face glistening with perspiration. I place a hand on his forehead and found that it was cold and damp.

Harry caught my wrist and opened his mouth and tried to speak but his voice came so soft and hoarse I had to ask him to repeat it.

"I saw something…" he groaned louder this time.

I exchanged glances with Remus.

"What do you mean, kiddo?"

"Voldemort," there was a collective shudder of those present but had made themselves mere background. "He was really angry…something happened he didn't want to happen…something that's going to be good for us, I think…a flawed plan…"

"What do you mean, Harry?" Remus asked urgently. I was aware of the guard creeping closer as they waited for Harry's answer.

"I don't know," he murmured before his eyes rolled back and he fell into a dead faint.

A prickly sensation started at the base of my spine and worked its way through every nerve-ending of my body till everything about me was burning with trepidation. Something really big was happening. I could feel it deep within my bones.

I didn't realize that that something was painfully, slowly climbing the front steps of my inherited house.

****

Okay guys, I've been seriously struggling with this story. first off, would it be worth it to even continue it? I feel as though I forcing the text through and if it is coming across as boring please let me know. Second, I was wondering if I should continue on in first person or switch back to third person...I don't know which would sound better. I'm used to writing in first person and I havn't done the latter for a long time but i know it is customary to write in third person for harry potter...please let me know you thoughts, ideas (i'm open to anything to improve this chapter) critizes and everything else. Please answer back...hope you liked the chapter.


	3. Sound the Bugel

**Hey guys...yeah...sorry about the forever-ness that it took for the update. I hope you enjoy this chapter and I promise there will soon be more to come. There's a bit of angst in here but I think I wrote it pretty well!**

**

* * *

  
**

_"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience by which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along."_

_***  
_

"It was the Dursley's," his voice came abrupt in the semi darkness, a lit only by the flickering red-orange flames of the stone fireplace. Outside the room's only window, the sun had fallen away to a purple twilight.

I sighed softly. "I know."

Sirius leaned forward in a quick, jerk-like motion, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers steepled in thought. His blue eyes were cold like ice.

I waited for him to speak; the minutes dragged on in what seemed like forever.

"How long do you suppose…I mean…?"

The words grated my raw throat: "a while."

"And he never told us?!" Hurt and shock laced Sirius' raised voice.

I didn't give an answer.

"_Damn_ Dumbledore."

I sighed again, controlling my anger much better than my friend, but totally agreeing with him.

"The bruises during third year," I spoke slowly, contemplating each word, now realizing my mistakes. "I had always assumed they were from Quidditch—I never asked. But-but I never thought there was a possibility of ab—"

I couldn't say the word, it was lodged in m throat, but it came across clear enough.

"Don't blame yourself, Remus," Sirius' fingers clenched into tight fists, not speaking directly to me but rather to the tweed rug. "It's all my fault. I saw him more often than you ever did. I'm his godfather. I should've noticed—but I didn't want to. I didn't want to believe that this could happen to James' son." Sirius buried his face into his hands; his voice came muffled. "How can I be so blind?"

"We _all_ had a responsibility. Especially Dumbledore—he was the one who placed him there, knowing that his relatives hated magic," Remus sank deep into his chair, feeling ashamed. "I should've done something instead of wallowing in self pity—I should've kidnapped him."

Sirius let out a single, dry laugh that was void of humor. "The ministry would've snatched him right back."

"Werewolf," Remus muttered in disgust, picking up his cup of tea and slowly swirling it around in its cup, gazing at the brown liquid and the steam rising from its center.

"You're harmless, Remus. Everyone knows that. Fudge knows that. He just too much of a prat to admit it, the coward."

I only shrugged, not offering an answer. Sirius fell silent as well.

The silence seemed overwhelming. I took a gulp of tea and immediately regretted it as the hot liquid scaled my throat. I swallowed nonetheless; I deserved some pain for what Harry had obviously been through.

_You're being irrational. _My mind told me and I sighed again, not willingly to agree. Harry was only a child. No child should have to go through all that.

_You were only a child, too, weren't you? No four-year-old should have to go through that kind of pain. You and Harry have something in common that not many people share. The world has been unjust to both of you, in different but same ways._

_Even Sirius._

I stared at the liquid of my tear, my eyes beginning to smart and my nose beginning to burn. I scolded myself. This was not a time to become emotional. Harry needed me and Sirius to get through whatever Voldemort was ready to dish out next.

_And to protect him from those god-forsaken muggles._

I hated the Dursleys.

Both of us were jerked from our thoughts when the sound of the creaking staircase broke our lingering silence. Some tea spilled from the edge of the ceramic cup, burning my hands, but I ignored it completely.

Sirius half stood as I remained frozen in my over-stuffed chair; we both stared at the scrawny silhouette that had appeared in the doorway; a gasping, heaving form that stayed at the threshold; a quivering person that was hunched over, trembling uncontrollably.

"Harry?" Sirius spoke in surprise. He threw a worried glance at me; I shook my head, conveying my confusion. "What on earth are you doing up?"

For a moment Harry didn't answer and we both waited with almost bated breath. For a moment, all the only sound was the loud noise of gasping as though Harry was trying to catch his breath after a hard run but was failing miserably. I set my cup of tea down slowly, hands shaking, concern rising in my throat. Then:

"Sirius…" his voice came wispy and faint and breathless. "Sirius, help me…"

Sirius remains in the half-standing position as though he was unsure of what to do, what to say. I watch him with wide eyes, my heart suddenly racing in a way that was becoming painful. My pulse pounded in my ears and the blood rushed to my head. I swallowed with difficulty. Never had I heard Harry come out and just say something so blatantly like—I knew he was a lot like me—a person who suffered in silence.

"Harry?" the animagus' voice comes out alarmed. "What's the matter? What happened?"

"I can't get the blood out of my shirt."

My heart literally stops within my chest. Sirius launches himself to his feet, the Daily Prophet sliding from his lap to the floor. I wasn't far behind him, igniting my wand as I stood; steeling myself for the sight I knew was to come.

We both momentarily froze.

There was no blood on the pale blue shirt Sirius had lent him. But the boy was sweating and shaking and breathing so rapid and shallow that it was as though he wasn't even breathing really at all. His pupils were so dilated that the green had nearly disappeared, giving the boy a rather eerie look.

"Sirius, do something," I whispered in shock, afraid to move in case I did any further damage. "He's hyperventilating. Something happened."

"MOLLY!" Sirius bellowed towards the staircase unthinkingly, jumping into action reflexively. "SOMEBODY!"

Harry flinched violently as the portrait began to scream and I broke into action as well, sprinting forward to help the boy, whose eyes had gone distant and lips had gone paper white.

"Harry? Harry can you tell me what happened?" I murmured as soothingly as I could make my voice.

Harry only breathed faster, harsher. It terrified me. He shook his head back and forth, not looking at me.

"You're safe, no one's going to hurt you," I assured, taking Harry by the arms, unsure of how to proceed but not willing to do anything rash lest I scared the teenager any more.

Tonks was the first one to run in, her pink hair mussed up, dressed in purple pajamas, eyes wide and wand ready.

"Fire call Pomfrey, Tonks, it's an emergency." Sirius demanded, sprinting from the room. Only a moment later, the screaming portrait was cut off. Tonks called after him, glancing wildly at Harry's shivering body and my frantic fussing, as I touched Harry's face, arms, chest as I tried to find out if there was an actual injury that needed attended to.

"What hap—?" she began to ask, her eyes still wild.

"GO NOW!" he roared back from down the hall, making the portrait scream again.

Damn Sirius' mother.

"Harry," I spoke gently, crouching down to look up into the boy's waxen face, checking his pulse through his wrist, after finding nothing wrong physically. His pulse was too fast, too faint. "Harry, we're going to get you upstairs into bed and give you a calming potion until Madame Pomfrey arrives."

Harry slowly shook his head, not even looking down, his gaze fixated on nothing and everything. "No, I want to stay here."

I blinked, not expecting Harry to protest.

Sirius ran across the room to us, a cup of water in his hand; the liquid sloshed out and over his arm as he hurtled the remaining space between us. "You can't kiddo. You can't stay down here. You need to lie down in bed." He pushed the cup into Harry's trembling hands. "Drink this."

Harry looked down at the glass of water, beads of perspiration clinging to his midnight bangs. He suddenly lets the glass slide through his fingers, my reflexes weren't fast enough, and it shatters on the floor, spraying water everywhere.

Sirius and I quickly grab him by the arms and half carry, half drag him away from the broken glass and push him onto the couch.

"We have to get you to lie down, Harry. I won't make you go upstairs. Pomfrey's on her way."

Harry stands up again, trembling so violently he was nearly in convulsions. The glass figurines on the shelf near the fireplace exploded and the fireplace flickers, goes out, then roars to life again.

Sirius and I both duck, exchanging looks of alarm towards each other.

"What if she sees the blood on my shirt?" Harry didn't seem to notice the sudden destruction as he drags his hands frantically down the length of his shirt as though he was trying to wipe away a stain but not succeeding.

"Harry," Sirius' voice was weak. "There's no blood on your shirt. Please, kiddo, please just come with me…"

Harry's head drops to the side, his dilated eyes rolling back once, twice, than focusing once more. "What…what about the blood…?"

Harry lurches forward, falls on his hands and knees and heaves once, twice, three times before vomiting violently on the floor.

Sirius fell down next to him, waving his wand to get rid of the mess. I conjured up a towel and knelt down.

Thin strings of vomit hung from the corners of his mouth. His eyes were so far away, I doubted he even recognized us. His face began to go gray.

"Something's happening," he moaned, shaking his head slowly, back and forth, back and forth. "All the _blood_…" the vomit drips to the floor from his mouth. It only took a moment to see that the stomach fluid was spotted with red.

"Sirius, he throwing up some blood!" I said in shock.

Harry moans again and sinks to the stone, closing his eyes as his cheek pressed to the floor.

This scared me more than anything else.

"Remus!" Sirius demanded, his voice quickly becoming panicked. "You were the one who wanted to be a healer! DO SOMETHING!"

"I don't know what's going on, Sirius!" I shouted back defensively, knowing that Sirius was beginning to panic. "You need to remain calm! This is no time to panic!" I use the towel to wipe Harry's face of sweat and sickness. He didn't stir—he only breathed heavily, his back rising and falling so fast that I couldn't believe that his heart was getting any oxygen at all. I turned the boy over on his back, gently pulling him closer to me.

"It's the perfect time to panic when your godson starts hallucinating and talking nonsense!" Sirius yelled back, placing a hand on Harry's gray forehead, brushing the hair back away from the cursed scar. I stared as Harry's eyes opened and flitted unseeingly across the ceiling before disappearing into the back of his head. They reappeared a moment later, the pupils pulsing. His mouth hung open just slightly as he sucked in air erratically.

"Move aside!"

I felt an overwhelming rush of relief as I heard the Hogwarts' nurse's voice come loud and bossy.

Poppy came pushing through, Severus close by her side with a scowl darkening his already sour features.

"What's _he _doing here!?" Sirius growled. I could picture him as a dog, hackles raised and teeth bared. "Why didn't Dumbledore come?

"Believe me, Black, that I did not wish to accompany Poppy but was rather forced. I take no pleasure in seeing Potter more than absolutely necessary. The headmaster had different matters he was caught up in." Severus sneered, arms crossed. Sirius _humph_-ed.

Poppy ignored them and waved her wand over Harry's body, frowning, eyes narrowed.

"He threw up blood!" Sirius injected, breathing fast. My eyes jump from him, to Severus' unmoving form, to Poppy who had begun to speak.

"It was only a bloody nose, Black," she said quietly. "It drained into his stomach—a lack of iron and protein will do that."

Sirius almost deflated in momentarily relief.

"He's delirious—saying there's blood on his shirt and that something was going to happen." I took up Harry's hand, holding it gently in mine. It was too cold.

Severus looked over at me calculatingly. He spoke: "The Dark Lord's been angry—more than usual. I wasn't there to see what happened but the other Death Eaters who had been there haven't been too keen to speak of it."

"Voldemort," Harry said sluggishly, opening his eyes again and looking directly at me—or rather—_through_ me.

"Shhh…buddy…" Sirius, brushed wisps of hair from Harry's forehead, over and over again in a methodical movement—it seemed to comfort both him and Harry.

Severus tensed at the mention of Voldemort's name.

"He's here in the room," Harry grimaced. "He's going to see me and the blood on my shirt. He'll know it's my fault. He'll see me…"

"Hush, now, Potter," Poppy shushed, running a thumb over the muggle stitches on Harry's white face. They stood out more than ever against the pallor of Harry's skin, ugly and provoking rage to boil in my stomach. "What happened?"

"He wouldn't elaborate," Sirius replied gruffly.

"Arrogant Gryffindor," Severus spoke snidely. Sirius bristled but surprisingly ignored him.

"But we suspect it was his relatives."

Poppy shook her head angrily. "Damn those muggles." She said uncharacteristically.

'_Damn them' is right. In fact, damn everyone who has ever harmed Harry or let harm befall him_. I looked up and met Severus' eyes as the man crouched down to administer a calming drought to Harry. _Including me._

_Definitely me._

***_Sirius_

I sat quietly by Harry's bedside, staring at the two tubes running from his nose, taped with magical medical tape that stuck very gently to skin and pulled off with absolutely no problems at all. My eyes jump down to the needle in the crook of Harry's arm and top of wrist, running to a medical pouch that hung by itself in mid air near the backrest of the iron-wrought bed. My bed. The bed I've sat by for nearly six hours, waiting, holding my breath, for any sign of lucidity from my godson.

I shuddered as I thought of before, of Harry's mention of blood on his shirt—whatever had happened in his mind, whatever had made him see whatever he was seeing, I prayed it never, ever happened again. For Harry's sake and for mine. I didn't think I could handle it.

I hesitantly touch the black, muggle stitches and hated myself instantly. Poppy hadn't taken them out, having no experience with the contraptions of muggles and she had told them that when the stitches begin to dissolve, she do what she could for the scar that was definitely going to remain on Harry's skin. Just another scar for him to deal with.

_"He was having some sort of severe panic attack. Maybe caused by a dream or a memory or even his scar." _ Poppy had said. "_Other than the fact that he is underweight and has collected some mild, healing bruises, there's nothing physically wrong with him."_

Nothing physically. But she hadn't said anything about mentally. I kicked myself. I should have sat with Harry bedside after he had gone unconscious…I should've been there when he awoke frightened and confused. Who knows what could've happened with him wandering around the Black mansion before he found Remus and I.

_But nothing bad happened. He didn't get hurt. He found you okay._

I sighed and rubbed my face tiredly, fighting back a yawn.

"You're beating yourself up, aren't you?" Molly had come in quietly, unnoticed. Her lip trembled at the sight of Harry but she was more composed than she had been earlier when walking in on the scene in the common room. Hermione and Ron had already made their rounds to visit Harry. I did my best to assure them that he was going to be all right. I didn't think they believed me.

"I'm trying not to." I muttered, leaning forward to grasp Harry's hand. The last time I had been through this was when James had been caught in an unexpected storm while flying alone. The wind had battered and beaten him off his broom and he fell. We found him the next morning. Unconscious and bleeding, barely breathing, barely alive. To this day we didn't know how far he fell. I almost didn't want to know. I remembered sitting with Remus and Peter for six days in the hospital wing, not eating or sleeping, waiting for my best friend, my brother to show some sign of life.

The scar from his fall remained just above his temple for the rest of his life. Poppy had said that if he had been stuck a centimeter lower, he would had instantly died from the blow he had sustained.

I shuddered.

"He's only sleeping, Sirius. Poppy said he was going to be all right. He just needs some rest."

I nodded miserably, half-heartedly accepting the cup of tea from Molly. I didn't take a drink from it though, not letting my eyes leave the motionless boy.

_He's not James, Sirius. He didn't fall from his broom from unknown heights. He wasn't left lying in mud and rain all night alone. He wasn't nearly dead. Be grateful, Black._

"Would you like me to bring you anything to eat? A sandwich? Or soup?"

I shook my head silently. I had no appetite and probably wouldn't have one till Harry woke.

Molly didn't argue. She gently kissed Harry's forehead, careful to avoid to stitches and tubes before quietly exiting.

I gently took Harry's white, motionless hand, gingerly touching the tube running into his wrist, careful not to upset it.

"Hey, buddy, it's Sirius," I whispered. "I need you to get better. We have the whole summer together before you go back to Hogwarts. Just you and me. And Remus if you like. He cares for you too. Almost as much as me.

"I know I'm never much for words, Harry kiddo, but I just want to let you know that you are the single most important thing to me. I love you with all my pitiful existence. I know that isn't much…but-but it's all I have. I'll be whatever you want me to be, I'll go wherever you need me to go. Just don't leave me. If I lose you…well…I'd lose my heart. What's the point of living without a heart?

"I know life is really hard right now, but you gotta stay strong for not only my sake but yours. It's a lot for a kid to carry—the weight of the wizardry world—but-but I'll help you if you'd like. Just don't give up—and don't think I didn't notice last year…that-that look in your eyes. I don't ever want to see that again. You hear? You understand? I swear, if I see that look again, I'll ground you forever. And I mean it.

"Remember who you are, Harry. You're the child you stopped the most powerful wizard in his tracks. You befriended the most unlikely people and have showed so much kindness when the world never showed you any. You're brave and smart and so willingly to help. You saved me too, Harry. Now, I'm not talking about the Dementors, I'm talking about my sanity, my life. You kept me from teetering over life's edge. You pulled me back when no one else would.

"Harry, if you lose yourself, everything else will soon follow. I'm not lying. You'll end up with nothing. You just got to hold on, buddy. You don't know about the prophecy, but I do. Dumbledore's being a prat right now and doesn't want you to know. He cares about you, he really does, but sometimes I think it blinds him. But you have to be the one to defeat Voldemort. I don't know how you'll do it, when you'll do it, or why you even have to do it but it has to be you, only you."

I took a deep breath, blinking fast before continuing:

"You're a soldier now, Harry, fighting in a battle for your freedom and your friends. And boy, that's worth fighting for.

"But you don't have to do it alone. I'll be there. And so will Remus and Hermione and Ron and everyone else. You have more friends, more family than you know Harry and I hope you'll realize that one day because I understand now that you've never had the chance to understand what love really is. I wish I'd never went after Peter. I wish I would've stayed with you like I promised James and Lily. But I broke my promise. I broke it, kiddo, and you were the one who had to suffer the injustice. Can you forgive me, green eyes? Do you think you could do that for me?"

Harry gave no response, not a flicker of movement.

But I felt lighter than I had in years. I gently rubbed Harry's hand and laid my forehead on Harry's clammy one momentarily, feeling the his steady, warm breathing against my own skin. He was alive and I was going to make sure it stayed that way.

"Harry?" I whispered, willing a response from the prone boy.

Nothing. I leaned away, forehead scrunched.

"_Sirius_!,"

I jumped a foot in the air and dropped Harry's hand, forgetting about the tubes, forgetting about my godson for just a moment.

"Merlins, Remus—" I stopped abruptly, not daring to finish my venomous words as i stared at the dead, white face of my werewolf friend. He looked like he had just seen a ghost or a dead person or something.

"What happened, Remus?" I demanded, leaping to my feet, ready for whatever Remus was about to dish out, my hand reaching for my wand. "Is it Harry?"

Remus shook his head in what looked like disbelief. "Dumbledore's downstairs."

"So?" I prodded, not believing that was the only thing he wanted to say.

"I can't believe it—I just really can't—I feel like I've died or I'm sick…or I'm about to be sick…" and promptly, Remus lunged for the trash bin and retched twice.

"Remus?!" I spoke alarmed, frozen by my seat, unable to do anything except gape at the usually calm and collected man.

"It's about James and Lily, Sirius. That's why Dumbledore was gone…James and Lily…oh Merlins, I can't believe I'm about to say this…but James and Lily….their al—"

Harry jerked violently, sitting bolt upright, eyes wide, breathing rapid and shallow. His hands clapped over his scar as he let out a cry of pain. His emerald eyes nearly glowed in terror and disbelief. Remus and I were frozen.

"My_ parents_ are _alive_!"


	4. Harry

_June 7, 2006 _

_ Well, it's in the middle of the night and I write this by candlelight. Geesh, I sound like I'm from little House on the Prairie. Gah! I had a nightmare. Boo-hoo for me, right? How babyish is that? I'm totally exhausted but I'm going to wait until some of the dream fades. So what is there better to do than to write in my dream diary?_

_ I can't wait to get back to Hogwarts and get out of this place. But, though I would never admit it to anyone, in some ways I'm sort of dreading it. I'm scared about how people are going to react. The pointing and the staring will start again—that I know of for sure. They will gape at me as though I'm a new thing at the zoo. Snape will have another reason to verbally attack me. Malfoy—hell that name just makes me want to spit—will taunt my every step. Not that that all bothers me._

_ Is this what all my life will be like? I mean, will I just be recognized for what I am instead of who I am? The pointing, the open stares, the gossipy whispers—is that all I'll ever be made up of?_

_ Those stupid people—with their whispers and idiot lies—they don't know me at all. Come to think of it, no one ever will._

***

I opened my eyes to brightly lit room, surrounded by the warmth of a thick comforter. My head was pounding like the incessant beating of a war drum and I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to wane slightly. When I opened my eyes again, my vision was nothing but a blur of indistinct shapes and colors; my tongue felt thick and dry in my mouth. Something had happened last night, I was sure, something pretty big but I couldn't remember much for the life of me. I thought briefly about an image that flashed through my mind; an image of me with blood splattered on my shirt. I shuddered. Must have been a dream. A nightmare. As I sat up and fumbled for my glasses, I realized I was alone in an unfamiliar bedroom and I vaguely remember Sirius sitting next to me and talking in gentle murmurs.

But it _must_ have been all a dream for the light coming through the window was too cheery and the silence was too serene for any chaos to have ensued. At least, that was what I _thought._

My hands came up empty and I crossed my arms moodily, wondering where the hell my glasses were and who had the audacity to hide them from me. My eyesight was wonkers without my poorly prescribed glasses and I knew I couldn't hope to be able to see without the blighters.

Well, I was never one to pass a challenge.

I flung the covers back from my body, bracing myself for a brisk morning chill. I would feel myself around until I found someone—it's not like I hadn't done something like this before. Dudley was always quite fond of hiding my glasses from me and I had gotten used to wondering around, staggering like a drunk. Absentmindedly rubbing at my forehead, I slid from the bed and onto the floor.

Bad idea.

The next moment I was on the ground, dizziness swamping my entire being. I felt as though I was lying on the deck of a ship in the heaves of a terrible storm. The carpeted floor beneath me swayed and lurched quite violently and for a moment I was sure I would give my stomach contents to the floor in a peace offering.

But the nausea faded fast and I was only left with a light-headed feeling.

"Hell…" I grumbled, pushing myself up and finding that I could barely stay on hands and knees.

Fine then, I'll crawl.

It was in those moments when I came to learn that crawling is not as easy as it sounds. I pulled myself into the hallway like a wounded cat, head hanging and knees dragging. "Sirius?" I croaked as loud as my dry throat would allow.

"My, my, Potter. Haven't we sunk to a new and rather humiliating level?"

I didn't have my eyes but my ears worked perfectly well and I could barely suppress a groan. Of all the people, why did it have to be Snape to find me in this manner? Curse the world.

I glared at the blurred floor and summoned up all my Gryffindor strength. I pulled myself up but my mighty image was marred as I, upon finding that my legs were being quite defiant, leaned heavily on the wall. "What are you doing here?" I spat and then immediately wished I could stuff the words back down my throat. Snape was going to kill me or suck my blood or something equally as horrifying for the cheek I had just given him.

"Thirty points from Gryffindor." The bat sneered rather calmly and though I was relieved that he hadn't raised his wand, I knew my housemates would be miffed that I had already gotten them in the negatives and term hadn't even started yet.

I gaped, unable to think of a wise comeback. "_What?_"

"Are you unfamiliar with the English language, Potter?" answered the nasty voice.

I bit back the sarcastic remark brimming on the tip of my tongue and settled for angry glaring.

"Scowling would benefit you more, Mr. Potter, if you actually directed it at the person in question and not helter-skelter." The derisive amusement was overwhelming to me and I spun on my heel to stomp away. Snape may be a Professor at Hogwarts, but here, wherever that may be, the man had _no _authority over _my_ life!

The hand that grabbed my arm was quick and rough; the fading bruises on my skin protested as my heart launched for my throat for means of escape. Though I would never admit it later, even to my old pair of socks, at the moment I was grabbed, I squealed like a terrified rabbit caught in a snare, hands raised defensively.

"Ge'off!" I demanded, doing my best to flail from the rough hands that had me. This man was a monster!

"For Merlin's sake, Potter! Stop your incessant blubbering and hold still you blasted waif!"

Heart racing and white spots dancing through my vision, I felt the Potion's Master grab my chin and hold my face firmly in place. With a rough thumb, he traced the stitches adorning my right eye. I couldn't help but hiss in pain with his assessment. Out of pure instinct I went limp, allowing my head to loll and my limbs to dangle. It was a survival technique that I quickly learned when I was a child. The less I fought back, the less I was hurt. Though I never thought Snape would actually lower himself to strike me. I waited, eyes squeezed shut. But nothing happened.

"_Pathetic_. Disgustingly_ pathetic._"

As suddenly as I was cruelly captured, I was released—so quickly that I fell to the floor heavily, chest heaving, my breaths escaping my lungs in ragged gasps. The Professor's eyes, I felt, watched me impassively.

"You are far too easily panicked, boy." He sneered above me. His voice sent the little hairs on the back of my neck on end. "When those muggle contraptions dissolve, I will reluctantly give you a salve to remove most of the scarring."

I was speechless and I pushed myself clumsily to my feet again. Was this really Snape offering this to me or was I feverishly dreaming? I hurriedly pinched the underside of my arm, quickly coming to terms that I was awake and aware, if not slightly shocked.

"Wouldn't want to mark up the pretty face of Gryffindor's Golden Boy, now would we?"

All previously conceived notions disappeared. Snape could never be tolerant around me. With this newest insult, my heart plummeted and I watched the blurred shape of Snape billow past in a grand exit.

"Bastard," I snarled quietly, feeling the urge to shake my fist at the retreating figure.

Once again, I suddenly found myself alone and unable to see. I cleared my throat and glanced around. Part of me…a very, _very _small part of me hoped Snape would decide to come back and help me find Sirius or Remus or someone remotely helpful.

I grimaced. Was I really thinking coherently? Snape hated me! He reminded me every time we came in contact! He would never, in a million years, help me without being forced. _Please come back! _My mind begged, betraying me hideously. My head was beginning to throb painfully again and my knees were beginning to tremble. To alleviate the dizziness, I allowed myself to slide to the ground, back against the wall. This was so embarrassing.

"How pitiful, Potter." Spat a hateful voice and I nearly leapt a foot in the air. The man moved like a wraith!

"Wh-wha—?"

"Once again, Potter, I admit that I am astounded by your profound intellect."

He grabbed my arm, hauling me deftly to my feet. "Come along, you whelp!" he snarled when I reflexively went limp. He didn't wait for me to regain my footing; instead he dragged me to the staircase with surprising agility, though I have to admit that I don't weigh much.

"Give me a sec!" I demanded, angry at being handled in such a manner but not sounding entirely convincing. I was glad that the dreaded man came back for me, as much as I would like to loathe it. I was _almost_ happy.

Almost…until Snape bent to whisper in my ear.

"Twenty points for insinuating that I was a bastard."

I wiggled, anger flaring up within me. "You can't take points during the summer!"

"Oh yes, Mr. Potter, I dare say that you find I will. Ten points for cheek."

I squirmed again. The grip on my arm was becoming painful as though Snape was tightening his hand little by little just to gauge my reaction.

"Another ten points for your inability to hold still in an attempt to defy a professor."

"I don't need you to help me!" I answered back loudly, hoping someone will hear and come to my rescue. Preferably Sirius, knowing that my godfather would take pleasure from blasting Snape till kingdom come. The sight would be extremely satisfying for me as well, the ugly git.

Snape ignored me. I could almost _feel_ him smirking; my fingers itched for my wand.

"Lemme go! I don—_oomph!_" suddenly, my feet were yanked out from under me and my arm was ripped from Snape's grasp. My chin hit the planked floor so hard that it nearly knocked me unconscious. For a split second, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe but only watch as bright, little stars danced in front of me.

"What the hell are you trying to prove, Potter?!" Snape snapped from somewhere above me. "Do not think you will merit any attention from me by your petty antics. Now stand up or I will yank you up by your hair!"

My jaw was too numb to answer and I was still struggling with the concept of breathing. What had just happened? Who or what had grabbed me?

"_Potter_," the man's voice was near deadly. "I warned you."

Hot white pain spiked up both of my legs and I suddenly found myself forcefully yanked backwards. This seemed to be the lock for my voice; I yelled: "Help!" though my plea came out like strangled dog. I tried to grab something, anything but only managed to gouge my palms with splinters.

I was going to die.

The pain in my legs and ankles was near unbearable. My eyes watered as the agony and confusion swept through me like a tidal wave. Was Snape doing this? Was this his way of punishing me? I didn't hear the pounding footsteps running for me.

Just as soon as I thought this, the floor beneath the lower half of my body suddenly disappeared and I was left dangling as the rest of me began to slip off. The jagged edges of the 'hole' dug into my side. Exhausted, I closed my eyes to wait for my fate.

Rough hands grabbed me by the arms followed by the sound of a body thumping on the floor.

"Potter, I swear on my life that if you fall into that pit, I will give you detentions for the rest of your life and for your children after you."

The wood digging into my side was too much. I had to bite back a whimper for the sake of my pride. "Please don't let me fall," I pleaded like a small child.

"_Sir_." Snape corrected sourly as he heaved up, shouting something in what sounded like Latin. There was a bright flash of light and I suddenly found myself launched forward. What had my ankles was gone and they felt numb. I briefly feared that my feet had been ripped off. I saw Snape hovering over me, shaking my shoulders, checking the pulse in my neck.

I chuckled groggily at the insanity of the situation. Of course it had to be Snape. Severus Bloody Snape.

The world faded to darkness…

Moments later, my eyes flew open. I knew only a few minutes had gone by for I was lying in the same position I had been when I had blacked out. I was on my back lying flat on the floor and surprisingly the world came into sharp, crisp focus.

_My glasses._

Suddenly, Snape's face came into view as well, destroying the moment. He glared down at me.

"What happened?" I groaned, wincing as pain flashed up my side.

"Mrs. Black's wonderful house." Snape used a thumb to peel back one of my eyelids. "Seems to be rather enthralled with you." He sneered.

"You…you found my glasses?"

"On the floor by the bed."

"Oh." I felt like an idiot. "Er…thanks…"

"No need. I was growing nauseas by the squinting looks you kept giving me. Tell me, Mr. Potter, has your eyesight always been this appalling or have you been hit on the head too many times?"

I ignored his sharp remarks and sighed. I started to do a slow inventory of my body. Wiggling my toes, I was relieved to know that I still had both of my feet and the feeling in them. However, the rest of my body hadn't fared quite as well.

"'m bleeding…" I mumbled as I raised my arm and saw red glistening on the skin on the side of my arm. "You _killed_ me."

"Hardly." The floor beneath me suddenly vanished and I gasped in surprise.

Snape was carrying me. My gut tightened and if I hadn't felt so weak, I would have squirmed until the greasy man dropped me. I would never live this down! I looked around quickly to make sure Hermione and Ron were around to witness this.

"I assure you that I am sickened by the fact that I have to carry you like a stupid rugrat." It was like he had read my thoughts and I didn't like that.

"Are you taking me to Sirius?"  
I only received a grunt.

My day could only get better.

_***Remus_

I'd be the first one to admit that I was never good with connecting with people on an emotional level. But just because I wasn't good with the connection part didn't mean that I wasn't observant.

Harry reminded me of the many helpless children I had seen when I had been a muggle janitor for a long-closed orphanage. They were conditioned by long periods of rejection; they learned to fall back into the shadows, to say nothing, to think nothing, to be nothing. In full view of the world they gradually wither and disappear. We've all seen them at one time or another. The children who hang back in the group. The children who prefer the lonely, protective shelter of a corner over the pain of more rejection and embarrassment. The one's who become the whipping post for every bully—adult and child alike. They are like woolly sweaters matted with every imaginable mean-spirited bur.

For so many of those precious lambs, going home at the end of day did not bring relief. There was no comfort. There was no safety. Only more abuse and terror. For some, going home was like an innocent lamb going to the slaughter

But Harry was strong and determined—his hidden, nearly undetectable pain only caught by my sharp senses. His bravery and loyalty to his friends kept him from the abyss that so many innocent children had fallen into. Harry was strong. But how could Sirius not see? Being the boy's godfather? Or maybe it was that he refused to see this?

I swallowed hard.

Maybe Molly was right about him only being able to see the James in Harry. Which, even _I_ knew that it was a minimal part indeed. I was sure that under different circumstances—such as James and Lily not killed—that would've been different.

I winced.

The childhood that Harry endured, the innocent child that Harry had been was still hidden beneath the protective layers that he had slowly but surely accumulated.

I felt my face go white as I stared at the closed door in front of me.

But James and Lily weren't dead. They were very much alive, only a few feet from my grasp.

That is, if Dumbledore hadn't cracked…

…"_I need you to sit down, Remus, my boy. We have some very important things we need to discuss."_

_I was bewildered by the solemnity adorning the usually cheerful headmaster. But my sharp eyes had managed to capture just a glint of mischievous twinkle behind those clear blue eyes._

"_What? Is it Harry? Is he okay?" I was so quick to assume, to panic._

_Dumbledore smiled softly. "No. I believe our young wizard is sleeping rather restfully with an ever-watchful Sirius at his side. No this is another matter entirely different. In fact, I believe that it was shock you severely. So, I insist, please sit."_

_I was no confused more than before but I obeyed without further talk._

"_You see, Remus, there comes a time when death is not the worst punishment that a dark lord can dole out. Sometimes, I believe that there are things worse than death, that even Voldemort choose a different course than what we initially believed to be true. And the impossible becomes very possible and things have changed quite drastically of course…"_

_The old man was rambling; his words were flying over my head like hippogriffs. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I haven't a clue at what you're trying to get at."_

_Again with that smile._

"_Please, dear Remus, we mustn't continue on with such formalities as teacher and student. We are both adults now. You may call me Albus."_

"_Okay, Albus…but I'm still very confused."_

"_As you should be, Remus. I thought about it nearly all night as how I could come across with this new piece of news. And please believe when I say that I searched every aspect to come to the conclusion that this was entirely true and contained no foul play or folly."_

"_What is that?"_

"_Remus, this will come across very blunt, but I'm afraid there is no other way. James and Lily Potter are alive and well."…_

"Remus?" Sirius' voice came from a distance and I focused my eyes again so that I could look at Sirius. The man was antsy and his face was pale. He couldn't keep still, pacing the length of the room. How he noticed my emotions was beyond me. He shoved the waste bin towards me, forehead wrinkled. "You just went white as a ghost again. Are you going to sick up?"

I swallowed convulsively and shook my head, refusing to open my mouth.

Sirius dropped in the chair across from me. His whole body seemed to deflate into the seat. He looked at me in concern.

"Sirius, stop look-looking at me like th-that." I demanded half-heartedly, attempting a glare.

"You're stuttering, Remus. You always do that when you're really nervous."

"There are more important things to concern ourselves about. Like Harry and…and-and…Ja…"

I doubled over and vomited violently into the rubbish can, my head throbbing painfully. White light gathered at the edges of my eyes and it took me a few minutes to realize that Sirius had come to stand next to me, hand on my back, his face worried once more.

"I don't know exactly who or what is behind that door but I refuse to believe it without physical proof. There's-there's no use getting our hopes only to let ourselves get wounded." It sounded as though he was trying to convince himself more than me. He probably realized that as well for he threw his arms up in the air. "Who am I kidding? Hell. Hell—I'm about ready to blast down that door and see for myself…you know, Remus? I just…just gotta know…if this is real…I just…I _need…_"

At that moment, Severus came billowing in, displaying all his menacing glory which was slightly dampened by the fact that he was carrying Harry in his arms like a small child.

A child that was stained with blood.

I stood quickly, forgetting my nausea. My mouth had gone dry and my heart missed several beats. Had we gotten Lily and James back only to have Harry ripped away?

No. Don't think like that, idiot. At that moment, Harry raised his head from Snape's shoulder and gave his godfather a lopsided grin.

"'m fine." He insisted.

"What did you _do_!?" Sirius roared in a fit of anger that would've put a dragon to shame, his hands curled into fists as he advanced on Snape. He ignored Harry as the boy continued saying that he was 'all right'.

"I didn't do anything to your whelp of a godson, you _dog," _Severus spoke snidely. "You have your damn house to pay for that. Now take the brat before my robes are ruined permanently by the filth."

Sirius, quivering with rage, snatched the boy from the other man's arms like the child was some sort of stolen ragdoll.

I winced, rooted to the spot.

Sirius briefly cradled the half-lucid boy before gently setting him on a chair and propping up his feet with another.

I expected Severus to leave but, instead, he summoned several potions over to the table.

"What are you doing?" Sirius snarled, nearly baring his teeth as he hovered protectively over his godson.

"In case you have forgotten, Black, I am a qualified healer and I doubt you or your pet werewolf have any expertise whatsoever." Severus pushed Sirius aside and lifted the side of Harry's blue shirt.

The sight had me by the child's side in an instant. "What happened?" I demanded in the calmest voice I could manage. The wolf brushed the surface of my emotions.

The gash was deep into Harry's side and continued to ooze blood. I gently touched the wound, ignoring the blood that stained my hands.

"The incompetency shown by your dog after he had blatantly stated that he had cleared the fourth floor of curses and spells and traps is rather impressive. I dare say the boy deserved what he got."

"Now, Severus," I spoke hurriedly in an effort to calm Sirius whose face was already turning a deep red at the insult. Though I, too, had bristled for Harry's sake. "Thank you for seeing to Harry, we both really appreciate it."

Harry blinked slowly and looked up at me. I realized that he knew what was going on but seemed too tired to put his thoughts in. He blinked again, looking owlish, and frowned.

"Will I be able to walk?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Not entirely sure what he was asking, I looked at the boy's feet and was sickened to find that both ankles were deeply lacerated and bleeding quite freely. "Does it hurt?" I asked in concern, tenderly raising on foot and inspecting the damage.

"No. 'm fine." The fifteen-year-old answered, wiggling his toes. "I can feel them." He said to no one.

"That's good, Harry." I chuckled, shooting a glance at Sirius who was still quivering in anger.

Snape joined me. "He's has torn muscle. I doubt walking will be a simple task for a few days. It was dark magic from Mrs. Black that caused the wounds, Mr. Potter."

Harry sighed.

"I could most likely make the healing process faster but, unfortunately, St. Mungo's is out of the question and Madame Pomphrey, however talented she is with snotty-nosed children, holds no talent with dark magic." The greasy-haired man glared at first Sirius than me. "I'd give anything to be working around something with at least average intelligence—like a rock, or an empty roll of toilet paper."

Harry's face darkened. "This is stupid!" he spat, clearly not liking the idea of his potion's master working on him.

Snape sneered. "It's pronounced _I'm_, not _this._"

"That's it!" Sirius bellowed, whipping out his wand. "Damn you, _Snivellus!_ Can't you see that he's ill? Insulting him won't help and so _help_ me, if you lay another finger on my godson again, I'll cut off your ba—"

"Sirius!" I shouted.

"Really Black? If it weren't for her, I would not be tolerating your presence here. In blatant fact, I would not be here at all but rather spending my time with something useful instead of caring for the bloody boy-who-lived!"

"GET OUT!"

Severus hesitated momentarily before glancing down at Harry's wide eyes. "Take all the potions, Potter, if you wish for any sort of recovery."

The man spun on his heel and stalked out of the dining room and disappeared around the corner.

I sighed and ran my hands over my face.

***_Sirius_

"Come here, kiddo," I said once my anger had simmered down, carefully pulling Harry's chair towards mine. My godson's face was still flushed. The boy's eyes flickered to look at me before glancing back to where Snivellus Snape had dramatically billowed out.

"What…what did Snape mean?" he asked, showing no pain as Remus bandaged his side wound. He had completely ignored what I had said. The fifteen-year-old continued to stare at the doorway, his body twisted for better viewing, shivering in the aftermath of an adrenaline rush.

"Harry, there's a lot we need to talk about." Remus cut in with his hoarse voice; his tone was gentle.

"Starting with those muggle things on your eye and ear." I forced out, trying to keep my voice as level as possible but with a firmness to make Harry listen. Remus was the master of control and I was the epitome of the opposite. I couldn't let Harry see how angry I was. It might upset him. Or…scare him.

The kid didn't even blink. "There's nothing to talk about," he said without missing a beat. "I told you it was an accident.

Remus and I exchanged glances.

"Accident my as—"

"What do you view as an accident?" Remus asked, stopping me from cursing.

Harry looked away, glaring in stubborn determination at the wall, his lips pressed into a thin, stubborn line. I could tell he was clenching his jaw to control the emotions storming behind those emeralds.

Suddenly I had an idea.

"Harry, kiddo," I began, scratching the back of my neck in an awkward gesture. "I know you've gotten into some fights…" I looked slyly at Remus, hoping the man would catch my drift. I braced myself and continued, "You just need to work on controlling that temper of yours. Remember when I said you needed to keep your nose cl—"

Harry exploded. "FIGHTING! TEMPER! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING!" The kid leapt to his feet, hands balled, face splotched with red, brilliant green eyes shooting poison darts.

My chair suddenly dumped me on the floor but I shot back up, masking my shock. Man, this kid really did have a temper! In a frightening way, it also reminded me of Lily's. "Then make me understand, Harry!" I shouted back, breathing.

The magic in the air crackled. Remus looked from Harry, to me, and back to Harry, eyes wide.

"HOW DARE YOU SAY ALL THOSE THINGS!? YOU WERE THE ONES WHO DUMPED ME WITH MY RELATIVES! DUMBLEDORE KNEW I COULDN'T STAND IT THERE! DUMBLEDORE KNEW THAT THEY HATED ME! HE KNEW THAT I LIVED IN A CUPBOARD FOR TEN YEARS! I HATE BEING CAGED! I AM NOT AN ANIMAL!" Harry stopped, breathing heavily, eyes wild.

"You lived in a cupboard?" Remus asked softly, looking horrified.

Harry looked at me without answer, his jaw trembling. I watched the emotions play across his face. First confusion, than disbelief, followed quickly by betrayal, fear, than finally settling on a dangerous rage.

"You tricked me!" he accused with a shaking finger pointing at me.

I shrugged. "You fell for it."

"Sirius." Remus said softly in a reprimand, obviously not approving of my methods.

Harry collapsed into the chair again, shaking from anger or exhaustion. I couldn't tell which.

I looked out the window to watch the orange globe slowly dimming in the evening. I turned my attention back to Harry to see that his head had dropped onto his chest. He was blinking rapidly. I swallowed hard, feeling suddenly guilty. Did he feel pressured to talk? Was I overwhelming him with words? Did he feel pestered instead of loved. I felt frustrated that I couldn't be what he needed and ran my hand through my hair. Did Harry know that I loved him? Or was I just one more person in a long line of others who had failed him miserably.

I watched him intently, struggling with my inner self. Harry was especially somber—either it was from the exhaustion and pain he had just undergone, I wasn't sure. His sorrow was like a living thing, crawling across the space between us, tearing at my heart. Stupidly, I asked, "Don't you trust me?"

After a long while, lifting his gaze from the table, he looked at me as if trying to come up with an answer to my forward question. It was obvious he was fighting with some sort of inner voice. Then he dropped his gaze again, scowling. I moved up from my chair, I crouched down to look up into his face, placing a hand on his knee. "Harry?"

Nothing.

"Listen, I'm really sorry about what I did. I was just trying to help." I drew in a deep breath. "The only way for us to help you, is for you to talk. Now I didn't say you had to tell us everything at once. You could go little bits at a time if you want." I closed my eyes briefly. "But after I've seen those stitches, Harry, I have to know what's been going on."

Silence. It was eerie and tense. Remus shifted his weight in his chair, his face blank and his mouth slightly open as he breathed heavily. I looked back at Harry and he met my gaze with emeralds so solumn that for a moment he looked older than his mere fifteen years. I waited patiently.

Harry averted his eyes, struggling to voice his thoughts. When at last he did speak, the words were like a rain of broken glass falling on my face and shoulders. "Once, when I was eight, my cousin and a group of kids at school knocked me to the ground." Harry's voice was barely loud enough to be heard even though Remus and I were the only ones in the room. I saw the werewolf lean forward intently, listening with a furrowed eyebrow. "They took turns hitting me and throwing dirt on my head. They were laughing…they tried to outdo each other, calling me awful names." His voice dropped even lower. "Finally someone scratched one of those names into my back with a pin."

In front of us, out the window, the fading sunlight seemed too weak to bear this sorrow and quietly bowed beneath the horizon. Gray darkness crept over the land as Harry's silent tears slipped down his cheeks. I reached up and for the first time, Harry reach down to me. Remus stood silent as I held the weeping boy against me.

I had never been good with comforting people. It had always been Remus or Lily who was the shoulder to lean on when one of our group had been upset. So it slightly shocked me that Harry had so willingly leaned against me when I had never before seen the teen initiate any form of touching. Even when Molly had hugged the kid, he had always stood there, never returning the gesture.

I had never imagined Harry had suffered this kind of treatment from his childhood. I had known that his relatives disliked him, seeing Petunia's disgust with Lily on more than one occasion. But I never thought…I never knew…I had been so blinded by anger and my thirst for revenge, I ignored the little boy who so desperately need to be loved and protected. I had allowed him to grow into a somewhat bitter teen who didn't understand the loving touch and the caring words. I knew what it was like to be hated before I had ran away to James' house. I should've understood.

James and Lily were going to kill me.

***_Lily_

I stared at my reflection in the smooth glass, at the green eyes staring back at me.

I was the same age I had been the last time I had looked in a mirror, but I had been holding a baby back then and my hair had been a lighter red. Now it was a dark crimson as it cascaded untamed over my shoulders like blood.

I hated it.

My skin clung to my bones in a grotesque sight and my skin was lividly pale except for an assortment of bruises coloring my arms and ribs purple and blue.

Who was I?

Behind me, James slept like the dead, his leg bandaged heavily, one arm hanging lifelessly off the edge of the bed. But he was breathing. I had made sure of that by lying my face on his chest to check for a heartbeat and to ensure that the chest was moving. I needed him to be alive.

How had the world changed? How long have I been gone? Fourteen years?

I'm alive. I have to remember that. In my perphial vision, I saw Mrs. Weasley fluffing out some clothes for me to wear, shrinking them to fit my emaciacted body.

"You're beautiful, sweetheart." She said quietly, solemnly.

"I don't feel it," I whispered back, my voice cracking.

"You are." She answered firmly, handing me the shirt and sweatpants. "Your son will think so too."

A wide smile broke like sunrise across my face and I grinned at my reflection, ignoring the pain of my dried lips.

"_My son._" It came out like a prayer.

_Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry._


End file.
